


The Ritual

by AJWmagickl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, aftermath of war, references to character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:30:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8968411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJWmagickl/pseuds/AJWmagickl
Summary: Between the sky and earth, a haze of darkness lay like a watchful predator over the sprawling houses of Alexandria. It was neither cloud nor air, but an energy unto itself, its inky edges descending in feathery tendrils to seep through the streets and between the structures.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little, darkish one-shot. I was planning on this being longer but I just couldn't get it any farther along, so here's my little unbeta'd ficlet.

Between the sky and earth, a haze of darkness lay like a watchful predator over the sprawling houses of Alexandria. It was neither cloud nor air, but an energy unto itself, its inky edges descending in feathery tendrils to seep through the streets and between the structures. 

Like responding to like, the darkness had gathered in the aftermath of a battle and followed the survivors through the woods and beyond the gate, leeching onto the smell of blood-stained skin, riding the coat tails of their weariness and grief as they returned home in lesser numbers than when they'd left.

On the edge of the subdivision, past the pond, a simple two-story house lay still and silent. No one entering would guess that even something as tiny as a mouse currently occupied the space. 

But if that same someone happened to tiptoe up the stairs to the second floor, and follow down the generous hall to press an ear against the painted white wood of the last door on the right, and if they were very quiet and had very good hearing, the faintest sounds might be heard from the interior room.

Names, uttered in solemn whispers, in memorium. 

"Eric. Sarah. Jen. Tobin." Daryl spoke as he lay on his back, wet hair soaking the pillow. 

"Karen. Amelia. Wes." Jesus breathed, from the opposite side of the bed. 

Their voices didn't break. They didn't cry. They were too many battles beyond survivor's guilt, almost beyond tears. 

The simple ritual was never planned out between them, they just fell into it at some point, taking their cues from each other. After each run in with the saviors, after the weapons were cleaned and the graves dug, the two men returned to their home, showered together in silence, and lay together on the bed to repeat the names of those lost, the names of friends and comrades whispered into the still air of their bedroom, spoken to be remembered. And to be forgotten. 

There were always names. They had yet to survive an encounter without at least one casualty. 

But today...today had been brutal. 

Laying in silence a moment longer, one arm tucked behind his head, Daryl finally turned to watch Jesus, whose eyes still searched the ceiling as if somehow that heavy cloud above them could breach it and swallow them whole. The scout's body trembled slightly, nerves uncoiling as adrenaline ebbed, slender fingers repeatedly grasping and releasing the edge of the threadbare blanket. 

"Hey. We're still here.", rasped the hunter, his quiet voice weary from everything, but tender as he waited for Jesus' eyes to meet his. 

Jesus turned onto his side, reaching a hand between them to lace his fingers with Daryl's. 

He smiled softly. "We are."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked! I appreciate comments!


End file.
